


The Spaces Between Us (Are Filled With My Love For You)

by stumpyy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jon Snow knows nothing, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stumpyy/pseuds/stumpyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Targaryen journeys north on orders to marry his cousin, Sansa Stark, on orders that he does not wish to fulfill. </p>
<p>Everyone around him is set on changing his mind. </p>
<p>A mix of book and show-verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spaces Between Us (Are Filled With My Love For You)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. 
> 
> This is the longest fanfiction that I have ever written, I hope you enjoy it.

Even from the sky, whilst riding on Rhaegal’s back, Jon could see that Winterfell is not as it was when he last saw it. The lines of the buildings were no longer blurred where parts of the castle used to stand in mid-repair. The air was different too, gone was the hint of smoke and something metallic, like blood, replaced by the crisp purity of winter. 

Jon was at first against riding the dragon up North but soon relented upon the insistence of Queen Daenerys. It wasn’t because Jon wasn’t proficient at riding his dragon. In fact, many have said that he rides almost as well as the Dragon Queen does as if he was born on a dragon’s back. No, Jon wished for the long journey on horseback because it would have given him more time to think about how to get out of the arrangement that he was on his way to brokering. The sight of Winterfell so close, so quickly left his stomach in knots because by the order of his aunt and his Queen he was to marry his sister-turned-cousin Sansa Stark. 

The only comforting thing about the whole situation was the fact that Sansa was not yet aware of the Crown’s intentions. He hasn’t seen her in over two years, not since Daenerys came to the North for the first time to assert her claim and announce him as a Targaryen and ask him to lead the fight against the Others.  

All the support for his title as King in the North melted faster than snow consumed by dragon fire. Not surprisingly, the Northern Lords were less likely to support a son of a Stark girl that tore apart the whole of Westeros than the daughter of a Stark that has kept the North together for so many years before his demise.

Jon couldn’t say that he was sad to see his claim and title gone, for he always believed it to be Sansa’s anyway. However, the fact that he had to abandon the home that he has fought so hard to regain in favour of King’s Landing where his only known family was murdered and terrorised saddened him immensely at the time. 

Beyond the Wall, he became the Prince that was Promised and songs were now sung about his battles. The horrors of the war against something so inhuman distracted him for months from the tatters of his identity, his victory tasted like ashes in his mouth. It seemed as though the Others were gone together with his sense of purpose.

Now it was different, Jon had gotten used to King’s Landing over time and learned to accept both Daenerys and Aegon as his family too. He feared that being back to his old home would tear open the old wounds and make him question who he really was, a feeling that haunted him perpetually before the last few years. 

Jon landed just outside the gates of Winterfell and watched them as they opened before him. Sansa stood in the centre of the courtyard flanked by Davos Seaworth and Lyanna Mormont. Other Northern Lords stood just behind them with the rest of Winterfell’s household at the back. 

“It is my pleasure to welcome you to Winterfell, Your Grace,” said Sansa bowing, the rest of her retinue follows suit. “I hope that you’ve had a pleasant journey here.”

In her smile, he sees the same girl from two years ago but the rest of her was much changed, eyes now hardened with her reluctant ruling. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” replied Jon almost mechanically, it felt strange to use the curtsies that Daenerys made him practice with someone so close. 

“I must admit that we have been expecting a larger Royal party to accompany a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms,” admitted Sansa with a hint of confusion in her tone. 

“Yes, my Lady, I am afraid the rest of the retinue sent to Winterfell is not as fast as Rhaegal, but they are expected to arrive in a fortnight.” 

Sansa looked alarmed for a second but then turned to speak to Davos in a quieter tone, “Please make arrangements to save the best ten courses of tonight’s feast and distribute the rest to the smallfolk.” Davos nodded and eyed both Jon and Sansa who looked guiltily at each other due to the inconvenience caused by the misinformation. 

“Very well, Your Grace. I am sure you would like some rest after your long journey so I will show you to your chambers,” Sansa addressed Jon again, urging him to her side. 

They walked in silence along the corridors of the castle until they reached what used to be Robb’s chamber. 

“We should catch up on the lost time after the feast, Your Grace, please rest for now,” she was looking directly at him now, with her smile of winter. 

“You can drop the formalities, Sansa. I know it may be more proper, but it isn’t right.” Jon looked at her pleadingly, but her gaze was unrelenting.  

“It helps the people remember that I am no longer your sister, that I was never your sister, to begin with,” she said, chuckling. “It’s hard, though because you look so much like Father.”

“See you at the feast, Jon.” With that, she disappeared behind the door. 

 

*** 

 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was the liveliest Jon has seen it since Eddard Stark left the North to become Hand of the King. The Northerners were clearly enjoying the newfound peace and returning prosperity. Although winter was still raging on, the lack of war brought warmth to the hearts of the Northern people that seemed to have warmed Winterfell from the inside out just like the hot springs below the castle walls. 

When Sansa walked into the hall everyone fell silent for a moment, Jon too felt the weight of her presence. The change was only momentary and soon the hall felt even more alive than before. It seemed to him that most of the improvements in Winterfell were due to her thoughtful governance and he thought he couldn’t be more proud of her. 

This was why Jon hoped that Sansa will see his reasoning and go against the wishes of his aunt. It was true that Daenerys was powerful, but she couldn’t really tell the Wardeness of the North who to marry. Sansa didn’t need anyone else to help her manage Winterfell or the North, surely she wouldn’t want him as a husband. 

Jon remembered that Sansa used to live for dancing. However, not once did she stand up to dance with someone at the feast. He wasn’t really fond of dancing either, but it was almost a crime to see her never leave her seat.

“Would you care for a dance, cousin?” He turned to Sansa, offering her his hand.  

She leant into him, too close to be appropriate. So close that he could catch the lingering smell of lavender and lemon cakes on her neck. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

When he holds her amidst the other dancing couples he can’t help but notice the cut of her dress that seemed entirely too low for comfort during these times of winter. She definitely noticed him staring. He was unsure, but for a second he thought he saw her smile. 

When they retired to the Lord’s solar after the feast, Jon was surprised that Sansa dismissed all her servants immediately afterwards. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sansa turned to Jon, her tone hopeful, but also serious, with none of that playfulness that he saw at the feast. 

“For how long were you planning on pretending that you are just visiting your cousin, Jon?” He stared at her, simultaneously understanding what’s going on without wanting to acknowledge the bigger picture. 

“Your aunt wrote to me,” Sansa said plainly, “don’t tell me you had no knowledge of this.” 

“I did not,” replied Jon, there was no use in pretending now, “Although you are unlikely to believe me, I actually came here to convince you to go against Daenerys’ wishes.” 

“Well that fact alone means that you have succeeded,” Sansa turned away from him then, looking towards the lit fireplace, “I know enough of forced marriages to subject you to one.” 

Jon felt like something kicked his very soul then and there, shaking his resolve. 

“You must understand that this is not what your father or mother would have wanted for you,” Jon said, desperately trying to make her see his side of the issue. 

“Mother and father are not here, Jon, and when Father was alive he told me he will make me a match with someone brave and gentle and strong, and you know what I told him?” 

She didn’t wait for a reply. 

“I told him that I did not want someone like that, someone like you. Oh no, I wanted Joffrey. Well, I got what I wanted then and now I carry those wishes as scars on my back. But I am not that stupid little girl anymore. I want to be loved by someone who doesn’t wish to destroy me, to take from me, to claim me as some sort of prize.” 

Jon could tell she was on the verge of tears but the stoicism in her features still held on to all the wisps of composure that she could grasp at that moment. 

“But I see that you cannot love me like that and the least I can do for you right now is to write tothe Queen that it was I who refused this entire ordeal. Goodnight, Jon, I will see you on the morrow.” 

He exited the room slowly as if another misstep on his part could shatter Sansa completely. 

 

*** 

 

In the next sennight, Jon accompanied Sansa on her duties as Lady of Winterfell and Lady Paramount of the North. The heat of their argument was completely gone and replaced by Sansa’s usual icy countenance. As he suspected, she was a gifted and just ruler, that much was evident fromthe people admired and respected her wherever they went.

He saw other, more troubling things too. Like the fact that some of the Northern Lords looked at her with hunger in their eyes, looking for favours at every turn. It made his blood boil. He continued, walking a measure closer to his cousin who appeared undaunted by their selfish admiration. 

On one particular occasion when they were having supper in her solar Jon found out that Sansa’s hand in marriage was a desirable prospect both inside and outside of Winterfell’s walls. 

_You can surely see how desirable a match between Highgarden and Winterfell be at this time. My sister Margaery spoke well of you when you were together at court and I have faith that we can find a measure of happiness together._

Jon really shouldn’t be surprised that the likes of Willas Tyrell were interested in Sansa now that the North could stand on their own two feet. Jon later found stacks of similar letters from suitors from every Kingdom and every half-decent House in Westeros. He wasn’t sure whether Sansa always left the letters there for him to find or whether their sheer quantity meant that she also could not quite escape their constant presence. Each suitor seemed convinced that he could make Sansa happy, each one accentuated the word Stark a little too much.

 “You know, Sansa, you should really take better care of your correspondence,” he told her one evening when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, smiling to herself. 

It was becoming increasingly clear to Jon that he didn’t truly know about the political pressures that Sansa faced on a daily basis. With the North’s resources limited by the harsh season, strong alliances with the South were needed to secure various provisions that the North couldn’t supply from within its territories. Jon saw how Sansa was able to supplant the need for some of the Southern imports with the new extended system of glasshouses, but crops still failed from time to time but the number of mouths that needed to be fed did not decrease. 

A few days later Davos was the one to deliver what was perhaps the most shocking revelation of all. It was a bright morning and Sansa was off in the distance, riding with Lady Mormont, the two seemed to have become closer since he last saw them and often partook in leisurely activities ranging from archery to embroidery together. Sansa’s ability to warm her way into the coldest of Northern hearts was perhaps her greatest talent and an instrument of her success. 

Davos approached him quite unexpectedly then, taking Jon by surprise. 

“You are a fool, Your Grace,” Davos stated, “You think you are doing her a service by relieving her of your presence for the rest of your lives, but all you bring is pain.” 

“She is strong on her own, she doesn’t need me or any other Lord, Northern or Southern,” retorted Jon, “I know she will pull through any of the current difficulties just as she always has.” 

“You know nothing,” Jon expects to hear his bastard name afterwards, but the Onion Knight simply continues, “She may seem put together, she is very good at that, but those that lived here for longer than a fortnight have all heard her night terrors at least once.” 

Jon looks at Davos searchingly, wordlessly asking for an explanation. 

“She has not been the same since Littlefinger died. That old swindler wasn’t loved by many so everyone seemed to have overlooked the suspicious circumstances around his death,” Davos looked solemnly at Jon to confirm that the young Prince understood the point he was making. 

Jon heard Sansa laugh at that moment, urging Lady Mormont into a race. It was astonishing how a laugh so sincere and carefree could mask so much sorrow. It seemed that even after all these years and so many incarnations of Jon, he still knew nothing. 

 

*** 

 

The night the rest of Jon’s retinue arrived carrying the much-needed supplies from the Crown Jon was uneasy. An alliance with the Crown would clearly be a most advantageous option for the North as well as Daenerys. The Queen’s letter brought on a growing sense of urgency within Jon, a feeling that stole his rest and sleep. 

_Dear nephew,_

  _You could imagine my surprise when your cousin who used to be so convinced of the political benefits of a marriage between the Crown and the North just a fortnight ago now writes me that she has refused the idea entirely. As you can well imagine, I wasn’t fooled by the entire farce. I’ve sensed your reluctance when you were still in King’s Landing which is why I wrote to your cousin in the first place without your knowledge. I hope you understand my predicament which is consequently the predicament of the whole Realm._

_Jon, you must know that I have lost another child. The maesters tell me that hope is not yet lost, but should I fail, the responsibility to carry the Targaryen line will fall onto you. I have no love for the Starks who have caused the downfall of our family, but even I can see that Lady Sansa will be good for you and perhaps even for the next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Let me know whether you’ve changed your mind and I will double whatever goods have already reached the North._

_Your aunt and your Queen,_  

_Daenerys Stormborn._

 Walking through the deserted halls of Winterfell Jon brooded over everything that he has been faced with in the recent days. From a purely political standpoint, Jon could see the benefits of such a union but he still worried that in time these benefits would dissipate and Sansa will realise that Jon is not truly the man that she wanted. He did not want to disappoint her, not when he could feel himself on the verge of drowning in her kindness and the tender affection that she bestowed upon him so easily. 

On the way back to his chambers Jon heard screams coming from the Lord’s chamber, his heart leapt from his chest and he unsheathed Longclaw instinctively, following the direction of the voice. 

“Get away from me, you were supposed to be dead, you were dead,” cried a tortured voice that Jon would recognise anywhere. 

 He almost broke the door at the speed at which he entered Sansa’s bedchamber only to find that there was no assailant except for the one in her head. Carefully setting his sword to the side of the bedpost Jon carefully approached Sansa, gently holding her thrashing body so she does not hurt herself in the process. 

“It’s me, Sansa, it’s me, Jon,” he said holding her close, “You are safe now, with me.” 

She was now semi-lucid and he could feel some strength in the embrace that she reciprocated. Her head fell to his shoulder and he could feel her tears running down the base of his neck. 

“I killed him, Jon, I killed him and now his evil lives inside me, just like Ramsay, Joffrey and Cersei,” Jon could barely make the words out through her sobs, but he could see the ghost that was haunting her in her face and in the way her whole body shook against him, “I killed him, I killed father too when I was still a stupid little girl.”

“Hush, Sansa, he cannot touch you now.” Jon soothed her, running his fingers along the back of her nightgown, acutely aware of the ridges along her porcelain skin. It was unbelievable how someone who deserved all the good in the world had only him to cling onto, and this made him want to give his everything to Sansa, even his dying breath. 

“I see why you do not want me, Jon, I am tainted and scarred, you deserve someone who hasn’t seen the depths of human depravity, someone who doesn’t have to live with them for the rest of their life like I do.”

He pulls away to look at her truly then. With one hand still on her shoulder, he raises the other to cup her cheek. 

“Dearest, loveliest Sansa, I am only now realising that my greatest fault has been in not knowing that what I truly need is right before me. You are not a monster because you defended yourself against those who wished you harm, you are a survivor and there is no shame in that. I am the unworthy one.” 

She did not nod or otherwise acknowledge his words but appeared visibly calmer. 

“Stay with me tonight, Jon,” said Sansa, leaning into his palm.

“Always, tonight and for as long as you want me.” 

He hoped that the ghost that gained on them both will find peace in the spaces of their embrace. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It was a bit difficult to write Sansa who is simultaneously a powerful player in the Game, but who is also a young woman herself with the appropriate insecurities to match. 
> 
> I hope she didn't seem like 2 different people throughout this.


End file.
